


Hallucinations

by singing_to_shipwreck (shocked_into_shame)



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Out of Character, Post-Canon, Stream of Consciousness, Teeny tiny mention of self harm but like not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/singing_to_shipwreck
Summary: Post s2 finale, Guillermo is gone and Nandor has Deep Thoughts.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Hallucinations

**Author's Note:**

> .... im back? 
> 
> This feels like a warm up. Its not very in character and its needlessly dramatic and angsty but fuck it!! Torturing Nandor is my favorite pastime.
> 
> Hopefully y'all can enjoy my tiny little return to writing, even if I've fallen off the horse. 
> 
> Heavily inspired by Hallucinations by Tim Buckley. Go listen to that song.

64 days. 

It's funny, really, for Nandor to be thinking in terms of days, when years on end have passed in a flash. The spaces between days have always felt inconsequential, lightning fast. 

But these days - these 64 cursed, wretched days - Nandor's felt every last one of them. They've crawled by, inched on their bellies, and he's languished in them. Miserable, creeping days and minutes and hours, and for what? 

For him. 

He's gone. 

Nandor has grown used to saying goodbye. People have faded in and out. It's one of the many benefits of his immortality. It's not a new thing. He is good at it, good at goodbyes. (Or, at the very least, not so good at hellos, which sort of negates the need for goodbyes.) 

The first time Guillermo said goodbye, Nandor chased him. 

Nandor doesn't chase after anyone. 

The second time Guillermo said goodbye, Nandor didn't chase. He waited.

The third time Guillermo said goodbye, he didn't bother to say goodbye at all. He made quick work of freeing them of their silvery confines, then with pursed lips and an uncharacteristic coldness in his eyes he turned on his heel and walked out of the door.

Nandor watched him go. 

Nandor doesn't chase after anyone.

It's been 65 days. 

Nandor sits back amongst the furs as the days scrape along and he drifts between a crushing, bone deep sadness that renders him absolutely useless and a seething anger. Right now, he's tilting toward the side of anger and he stands from his sofa, his ancient knees creaking out their disagreement at the movement. He huffs and a stray tendril of hair floats forward in the air, taunting him with its disarray. 

His throat burns with thirst and his hands shake. He balls his fingers into fists at his sides and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stay angry, to ride the wave of fury that courses through him, because it's easier this way. It's so much easier to be mad, to curse him out, to hate and to shout.  _ Fucking Guillermo _ , he thinks. Fucking Guillermo, wandering into his life holding a bright shiny ball of light. Fucking Guillermo, snuffing that flame out out as quickly as it was lit and plunging Nandor into the dark.

Thirst is unavoidable. He ventures out onto the street. It's just barely dark, a close call. He is dangerously impassive as he looks at the darkening sky, his skin tingling with just the hint of a sting as the sun disappears behind the horizon. 

Somehow, he ends up in the Bronx. He always ends up here. He doesn't know why.

Laughter echoes through the warming spring air and his head jerks to the side, the bones in his neck crackling with the movement. He winces for a moment before that sound washes over him again. He steps forward, rounding a corner, and there _he_ is, sitting on the stoop of a ratty looking apartment, laughing with a girl who shares his bright eyes and dimply smile. 

Nandor breathes out his name, a quiet whisper under his breath, and those bright eyes look up from his lap, fixed on the shadows where Nandor hides. Nandor's fists clench even tighter, his short nails digging so hard into his palms that blood pools to the surface, but he barely registers the scrape.

Guillermo's eyes are still bearing into him and Nandor holds the breath he doesn't need. Something washes over Guillermo's face, an expression that Nandor doesn't understand, but it makes his fingers unclench and his shoulders sag. He is so tired, so very tired, the full weight of his 758 years, all hundreds of thousands of days but especially the last 65 dropped like bricks onto his back, and he can't force himself into anger anymore, not when Guillermo is looking in his direction  like _ that _ . He distantly wishes he could ask Guillermo what the name of this feeling is, but instead he continues to hold that useless breath as he wills himself not to make any quick movements.

Guillermo's eyebrows furrow and then he finally looks away, returning his attention to the girl, his laugh twinkling on the air like little bells. 

Nandor lets the breath escape through his nose and he closes his eyes so tight it nearly hurts. He counts as high as he can in his head, but he loses track after 30 or so numbers and they get all jumbled together. When he opens his eyes again, after starting over from 0 three times, the stoop is empty. 

His throat burns, and his eyes sting, and he wants to chase so very badly, but he is just smart enough to know that it's impossible to cling to smoke. 


End file.
